


Subject/Object

by cl195238



Series: Figuring [1]
Category: The Office (US)
Genre: Begging, Crushes, Dwight’s kind of her friend, Experimentation, F/M, Fantasizing, First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Multi, Objectification, Oh My God, Pining, Shame, Workplace procrastination, thirst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-18 15:19:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17583314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cl195238/pseuds/cl195238
Summary: Set in the early seasons. Pam ashamedly comes to the realization that she has a crush on Dwight. She thinks Jim does, too.Pam gets to be the one in the office doing the ogling and objectifying for once.PS- This is set in an alternate universe wherein everything is the same, except Roy doesn’t exist. (Pam is conflicted enough already; I decided to give her a break.)





	1. Realization

Pam was having a small crisis. She sunk into her desk chair on that otherwise unremarkable Thursday afternoon, wrestling with her thoughts and taking care to make sure none of them showed up on her face. _I'm not sure what they are, but I have feelings. For Dwight._ She shuddered slightly, and was embarrassed to find that she was not entirely sure if the shudder was a good shudder or a bad one.

These feelings for Dwight were clearly different than her feelings for Jim. With Jim, she knew what she wanted: long, thoughtful talks at night, emotional connection, support, intimacy. It was easier to push those desires to the back of her mind. If it was meant to be, it would happen. Besides, she didn't want to jeopardize her and Jim's friendship. What did she want with Dwight, then?...She wasn't ready to fully admit to herself what exactly, but had already taken the first step by admitting that there _were_ feelings—physical feelings that popped up unexpectedly, sometimes inconveniently. Pam could tell these feelings were getting stronger, more obvious, and harder to ignore.

 _What was it about him?_ She wracked her mind, trying to justify the surge of slightly nauseous warmth that sometimes gripped her lower half when her painfully nerdy, pushy, and pedantic coworker was close by. Why didn't she feel like this with Jim? Why Dwight? _Well, he's tall._ Jim was taller, technically, but Dwight's presence felt somehow more imposing. Dwight was sturdier- less of a beanpole, with intense posture and an even more intense gaze. Pam indulged the thought of looking into his eyes, felt her face burn, then instead visualized them as she would the subject of a painting: wide and strikingly blue behind his glasses, bright cornflower in the center, with darker rings of navy on the edges. His eyes blazed on in her mental image, disarming her with their brilliant focus. _Those eyes are...nice,_ she thought to herself, replacing other, more sensual words that were creeping in to the edges of her mind.

Pam's desk was close enough to Dwight's that looking at him was unavoidable, and she often found her eyes wander to investigate nearly every time he moved. Things she wouldn't notice on anyone else, she found herself paying attention to in minute detail as she looked Dwight over. She'd gazed approvingly at his hands, his wrists, his forearms, always visible in short sleeves. Pam had no idea what Kevin's hands looked like, or Oscars, but she could probably paint Dwight's long, elegant fingers from memory. Maybe that's what she needed to do to get this crush out of her mind. _Crush! Ugh._ She thought to herself, knowing full well that that was what it was. She decided she would draw Dwight, if anything because that way she could justify her increasingly frequent need to look him over—to objectify him—as artistic study.

 _That's all it is, he's an interesting subject. Someone I'd like to draw._ Her thoughts were interrupted briefly by the man himself looming over her, a sheet of paper clumsily clutched in one of those big, beautiful hands.

"Pam, I need you to make four copies of these pricing sheets." He said, punctuating her thoughts with his usual bluntness. His voice reverberated in her head, it's masculine tone awakening something primal inside of her.

"Sure," Pam exhaled, vaguely embarrassed. "I'll do it right now." The heat she felt in her face seemed to spread to her entire body, and she was grateful for the excuse to turn and face the copier. She chided herself for her self-consciousness as she punched the appropriate keys in to the ancient machine.

"Here you go" she said firmly, as she quickly handed Dwight the stack of papers, taking great effort to control the pitch of her voice and not focus her eyes on any part of him as she looked in his direction. _He can't know,_ she thought to herself. It was the only thing she was sure of in that moment—that if he ever found out about these feelings she was having, he'd humiliate her. _Maybe I want that._ The thought cut in rudely, and she was stunned at its undeniable truth. Her eyes darkened at what she knew was the real nature of her interest in Dwight. She couldn't stop the next frantic series of mental images as she imagined him ripping her clothes off and taking her right there on the reception desk, in front of everybody.

 


	2. Power

Pam spent two days sulking over the fact that she had developed an intense sexual attraction to the coworker that she and Jim had already spent many long days making fun of. It felt like karma: Dwight now had power over her in a way that the pranks she and Jim had orchestrated had only temporarily subjugated him. She didn't think he knew it, but that didn't seem to make any difference.

She tried her best to block out the seemingly endless stream of fantasies that found their way into her mind, embarrassed and resentful at this point, feeling like her own body had betrayed her. She lamented the fact that knowing that Dwight was ignorant at best and a misogynistic weirdo at worst wasn't enough to deter her interest. The harder she tried not to think about him, the more intensely she wanted him. She imagined what Dwight would be like in bed: confident, animalistic, yet clinical and thorough, as he was with everything. He'd be the opposite of Jim, she decided, who she imagined as a loving, caring, soft type. Jim would ask her what to do, Pam imagined, but Dwight would tell her.

Pam knew intellectually that she was destined to be with a guy like Jim, and in some ways admitted that that was what she wanted. But a dark part of her also knew that it wasn't enough, and that cold, hard fucking had just as much appeal as soft lovemaking. _Probably_ _more_.

When she couldn't help herself, she briefly indulged in thoughts of running her hands up Dwight's strong thighs, gripping his shoulders, ripping the glasses from his face and merging her mouth into his. Of ramming their bodies together and feeling his massive want for her through their clothes. In her daydreams, he was always hungry with lust for her, although in real life he had never shown that kind of interest in the slightest. His disinterest was part of the appeal, and she knew it. She daydreamed about flipping a switch in his brain, so that suddenly he too would feel it. Insatiable, he would then fully overpower her, and steadily lift her up against a filing cabinet, the vending machines, the conference room table... 

By day three, the animal part of her brain had won out. The battle in her mind had been fought, and good, quiet, demure Pam, the one who only wanted a sweet time with a man like Jim, admitted defeat. _I'm_ _into_ _Dwight_. _I_ _want_ _it_. _Bad_. She still felt a twinge of shame over her presumably poor taste in men, but something in her got off on that as well. This felt dirty, rebellious, and free, all things she didn't normally allow herself to feel.

She was faintly aware that all of this was the start of her own sexual experimentation- the kind of awakening a lot of people had in their twenties. She hadn't known until now that she found the shame hot. The _wrongness_. Pam knew that Dwight’s ideas about gender roles were antiquated, that his patriarchal constraints were something she would never go along with, but something about all of this turned her on in its wrongness, and she was becoming okay with taking that at face value. She wanted him to use her. She wanted to use him.

With the floodgates of her passions decidedly open, Pam felt lecherous- almost smugly so. By owning and embracing her desires, it was like she had taken back the power for herself. She wondered if this was what men felt like all the time. Soon she found herself staring openly at the object of her lust, relishing this newfound freedom in not trying to hide it as her eyes drifted across her desk and towards Dwight's well-shaped ass as he rose from his chair. 

It was only a matter of time before he took notice.

 


	3. Exposure

“Dwight seems to think you’re plotting against him,” Jim smirked as he greeted Pam the next day. Pam froze, as suddenly her customary morning chat with Jim, something she always looked forward to, became as uncomfortable as one of Michael’s performance reviews.

“What do you mean?” Pam croaked, her newfound boldness rapidly replaced by her usual bashful countenance.

 “He says you’ve been surveilling him for three days. Whatever your plan is, I already love it.” Jim’s enthusiasm made her embarrassment all the more mortifying. _If you only knew._ Pam pursed her lips,

“If I was planning a prank, you know I would have told you!” It was the only thing she could think of to say.

“Nonsense, I’m on to you, Beesly!” Jim teased, and Pam felt herself flush. She hadn’t really counted on Dwight noticing anything, let alone him pulling Jim into it, and whether or not Jim ever found out what was going on was not something she wanted to worry about. “He’s…fun to mess with” Jim said, locking eyes with her almost solemnly, as if with some understanding. Pam nodded slowly, unsure of what to make of his sudden change in tone.

Every dirty thing she had played out in her head was suddenly very present—very real, and even though she knew it was irrational, she feared that Jim could see right through her and read her deepest thoughts. This kind of nakedness might have excited her, had she taken the time to stop and think about it, but these dark realizations about herself were too new, and her relationship with Jim was already too complicated.

 _Dwight thinks I’ve been watching him. That’s it. He doesn’t know I’ve been dreaming of him dragging his mouth all over my body. He thinks I’m involved in a covert operation._ Pam found herself endeared by Dwight’s tendency towards paranoia. Jim was right: he was fun to mess with. 

No longer fully drunk on the power of her fantasies, Pam said a silent prayer of thanks that she had to help Michael in the conference room that day. If she sat at her desk, she might easily have encountered Dwight, who she was content to let believe he was being pranked, or worse, be expected to explain herself to Jim, who wouldn’t be fooled so easily.

She hurriedly gathered the papers she needed and headed to the conference room to start what was probably an hour’s worth of collating that she fully intended to stretch out at least until lunch.

The haughty fog of lust having cleared slightly, Pam ruminated over her interaction with Jim. Her position in front of the conference room blinds gave her a clear view of him, and she peered out silently as she methodically sorted the various papers into piles. He seemed distracted, and not just in his normal, work-avoidant type of way. She couldn’t place exactly what was different, but something about Jim Halpert had changed. His eyes were oddly glazed over, heavy-lidded and dreamy. His cheeks were slightly flushed, and the look of mischievous smugness he usually got right in the middle of pulling a prank seemed almost permanently plastered across his sweet face.   _Maybe that's it. He's pulling some kind of long con._  

But, then again, if he had been planning a prank, surely he would have told her about it.

Jim seemed to be staring an awful lot at Dwight.

 


	4. Decision

Pam attempted to brush off the thoughts that were forming as she watched Jim hover over Dwight’s desk, both men peering at his computer screen with interest.

Jim seemed to be standing close- _was it closer than normal?_ \- and Pam watched suspiciously as he slowly, almost imperceptibly, moved his arm to rest on Dwight’s chair. Jim’s long body curved over Dwight’s possessively as he leaned forward to whisper in his ear. Still seated, Dwight raised his eyebrows, but otherwise kept his face still. Pam knew she was more scandalized by this exchange than she logically should have been, but she nonetheless found herself sinking down in one of the conference room chairs as she continued her paperwork, trying fruitlessly to resist the slow ooze of jealousy seeping into her stomach. _What is wrong with me? Do I really think there’s something there?_

She halfheartedly attended to the mindless task at hand: checking boxes, moving papers into piles, stapling stacks, repeating the process again.

Pam envisioned herself in a variety of scenarios: whispering softly into Dwight’s ear, telling him all the worst things she wanted him to do to her as he listened obediently, patiently. She wanted to shock him, to make him squirm in his chair. She wondered what Jim might be whispering only a few feet away, or rather she imagined what she _wanted_ Jim to be saying, as she had yet again delved into the infinite realm of fantasy. In her mind, Jim now whispered filthy things to Dwight as he groped him beneath the desk—saying and doing all the things she wanted to.

She continued to watch the scene from a safe enough distance—feeling in control of the situation, but also feeling a pang of longing to know what it would feel like to behave as Jim was.

For several moments Pam was transfixed, watching Jim continue to whisper hungrily into Dwight’s ear, his face now flushing even more than before. Simultaneously envious and intrigued, she wanted to see them continue. She wanted them to actually touch each other.  _What if they’re talking about me?_ Her inner voice interrupted, as Pam struggled to stay present in that moment, and shame and worry mingled with the residual feelings of intrigue and arousal.

She stopped to consider the ridiculous place her train of thought had taken her to. With little to no evidence, she had already jumped to the conclusion that Jim was out there acting on sexual feelings he had for Dwight. Surely the beet farmer’s allure couldn’t be that strong. He was an unconventional crush- she was relatively sure of that. What were the odds that she and Jim were under the same weird spell? And yet, she and Jim often found so much they agreed on. Was it really that much of a stretch? 

Pam was already out of her element, having spent the past few days struggling to make sense of these foreign, intrusive thoughts and sensations that seemed to catch her off guard at every turn. She felt a strong, habitual impulse to hide her secret deep inside, but at the same time she ached for something beyond mere fantasy. If Jim could manage to flirt openly with Dwight (and by now she had convinced herself that that was indeed what was happening,) why couldn’t she?

Part of her knew that Jim’s personality allowed for much more forwardness with others than hers did. He was never afraid to stand up for himself or to speak his mind. It was evident he didn't carry around the same strange, bottled up energy that haunted Pam, ready to spill over unpredictably at any moment. 

There was also no way Jim wanted Dwight as badly as she did. Did he even want him at all? She decided it didn’t matter either way. Pam knew what she wanted to do, and she began to psych herself up towards going for it.

Brazenly abandoning her busywork, she left the conference room and headed for the annex, doing her best to stride confidently past the two tall men, now standing shoulder to shoulder, looking almost like brothers. _This is real. I’m going to try this_ , she insisted to herself. She just needed to get him alone. 


	5. Request

Pam was within ten feet of Kelly’s desk before she hesitated, then stopped awkwardly in her tracks. Some kind of dramatic ploy to seduce a man who wasn’t interested would have been right in Kelly’s wheelhouse. Pam had initially planned to ask her for advice, but common sense caught up to her as she realized that asking for help without naming names would have been too tricky for what probably would have been terrible advice anyway.

It was, however, too late by then, because Kelly Kapoor had already spotted her.

“Pam!” She chirped excitedly, “PLEASE tell me you’re here to talk about what Scarlett Johansson wore to the Oscars,” Kelly’s expression was one of complete seriousness. “I mean, what even WAS that thing with the straps?! Oh my god, someone please tell me where can I buy a knock-off in white.” The manic monologue of babble that followed probably lasted ten minutes, but felt like twenty. Pam waited it out politely, nodding with feigned interest, all the while using the time to develop a plan to get to Dwight that was decidedly more Pam Beesly than Kelly Kapoor.

“This has been a really good talk, Kelly, but I should get back to work,” Pam smiled apologetically as she pivoted away, back to the conference room to tend to the remaining pile of papers and, more importantly, to watch and wait for the opportune moment when Dwight decided to take a lunch break.

 

That golden moment came sooner than expected, around 11:30, when Dwight headed purposefully towards the kitchen refrigerator to retrieve some kind of exotic meat sandwich. Fighting a surge of nerves and excitement, Pam pulled herself together, caught her breath, then made her way to the table where he was now seated.

He looked up from his sandwich briefly as she sat down beside him. Pam felt the heat creep up to her neck, and although they were nearly two feet apart, she felt as if they were practically touching.

“Dwight,” Pam began,

“Are you _not_ _eating_ _lunch_?” He butted in suspiciously, condescendingly, throwing her off guard, “Or do you have some sort of pathetic snack bar in your purse?”

“I have leftover spaghetti,” Pam said flatly, regretting not having pulled her food out of the fridge before sitting down. She was too nervous to eat, but in efforts to appear as casual as possible, she stiffly rose from her chair and retrieved her lunch. The two of them were alone in the break room. She couldn’t recall having been alone in a room with him before. It felt like a first. _Do it,_ she commanded herself, and when she eventually spoke, her voice sounded more confident than she had expected:

“I wanted to ask you something… I’m taking an art class at the community center” -This was a lie, but nonetheless a believable one- “Our homework is to do a portrait, and…”

“You want me for a subject.” He declared matter-of-factly, “as I am the finest specimen of male in the office.”

Pam immediately resented this assertion, probably because she at least partially agreed with it, but she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that, at least not _yet_. She paused and pushed her hair behind her ears.

“I really think you’d make for an interesting painting,” she said finally, gaining some courage, “With Schrute Farms as the backdrop.” Dwight appeared to consider her request for a moment, his eyes darting back and forth as he chewed his food thoughtfully. Pam felt the hope that had been rising in her chest begin to sink under the fear that he would turn her down.

“How long would it take?” He asked, “I can’t leave Mose alone too long or he’ll get into trouble with the goats again.”

Pam didn’t really want to know what sort of goat-related troubles could have befallen Mose, but she was willing to find out if it meant she could have some secluded time with the man beside her. She cast her eyes downward, avoiding his gaze as she watched his chest rise and fall softly. Although externally calm, she felt herself inch closer towards pleading pathetically.

“We could do it a little bit at a time if we need to. The, uh…the assignment isn’t due for a few weeks, it would just be sketching at first.” Pam continued, thrilled with how smoothly the lies were flowing, “And you can keep the painting when it’s done.”

“I will grant your request and allow you to paint me, but I’m not paying you a cent for it.” 

“Of course not! It will be a gift!” Pam’s whole face changed as she let the warmth of relief wash over it. They made plans to meet at Schrute Farms later that evening, and Pam floated out of the kitchen back to the reception desk, forgetting about her spaghetti entirely.

 


	6. Reveal

She drove to Schrute Farms that night in jeans and an _almost_ tight white button down shirt, which she had ultimately settled on after several outfit changes. In the few hours that had passed since she saw him last, she had thought even more fervently than before about the possibilities of being with Dwight, eventually reaching the tipping point where her arousal overpowered her embarrassment. As she pulled up to his place in her car, she was filled less with nerves than with wanton determination. 

She approached the house, art supplies in tow, fairly impressed by her surroundings. The property seemed endlessly vast and well-maintained, with rows of beet plants sprawled out in every direction. The large, antiquated farmhouse resembled something out of a classic novel, which only contributed to the surreal feeling starting form like a bubble around her. 

Dwight appeared in the doorway looking shockingly normal in his casual clothes, something which had always caught Pam off guard, and even moreso now.  

She hadn’t counted on him looking so _good_ in blue jeans and a flannel shirt. He appeared infinitely more comfortable with himself and his place in the world at home in his own domain. She marveled at the transformation, slightly intimidated by the man towering before her with tousled hair and square shoulders, glancing into her soul with those strange, wide eyes. 

She felt her face burn for what felt like the billionth time that week as she was confronted with just how _into him_ she really was. What had started as an embarrassing, unconventional crush now felt totally justified, and she wondered why it was that she had ever thought otherwise.

Once he opened his mouth, she was reminded why. 

 

“Enter, woman! Remove your shoes!” He bellowed in a voice better suited for a Batman villain. Pam snorted a laugh in spite of herself as she crossed the threshold into a room brightly lit by gas lamps.

“You’re late.” He said curtly. "Also, Kevin ate your spaghetti."

“The directions you gave me were a little unconventional,” she replied, “I had some trouble converting paces to miles.”  

Dwight scoffed, “Modern units of measurement are totally inaccurate in rough terrain.”

Pam rolled her eyes, then stood there sheepishly while Dwight took her coat. She clutched her easel, her eyes scanning the room. 

"Mose is away visiting a cousin," he explained, and she wondered if the outing had been planned in order to give them some privacy, or if his absence was merely incidental. She hoped it had been the former. 

“It’s already too dark for me to sketch you outside in the fields,” she said. “Do you have a favorite room we should use?” She had originally planned to boldly suggest sketching in the bedroom, but had chickened out last-minute. 

After stopping by the kitchen to grab two large glasses of beet wine, Dwight led her to a vast sitting room with a blazing fireplace. _Even better._

Handing Pam a glass unceremoniously, he recited several historical facts regarding his ancestral home, none of which she could really pay any attention to. She instructed him to relax on the sofa closest to the fire, smiling to herself as he arranged himself in the most formal, rigid, old west photo pose imaginable. He really was something. 

She thought about how seriously he took himself, as contempt and attraction somehow co-mingled harmoniously in her mind. Pam took a swig of the beet wine -sour, but not unpleasant- while peering from behind her easel, feeling considerably farther away from Dwight than she really wanted to be. She was by now beginning to realize that she was in over her head when it came to seduction. She had never made the first move with a guy, and had found herself consistently incapacitated by Dwight’s effect on her. 

Armed with a pencil and a socially acceptable reason to openly caress her eyes up and down her coworker, she was no longer content to merely look at him, and longed to touch. The gentle flickering of firelight illuminated the expression on his boyish face charmingly and he showed no sign of relaxing the severe pose he had assumed on the couch.

She didn’t quite know how to approach him physically, and worried that she might have to just come out and ask him if he was interested, as clumsy an approach as it seemed.

She peered across the easel at him, pretending to sketch, then caught his eyes. 

“Do you want me to take off my shirt?” She blurted, her hand shaking slightly as it gripped the pencil. 

Dwight scowled. “Would that help?” 

Pam stifled a laugh and repeated the question. 

He looked at her incredulously for a few seconds, drew in a breath, and said, “yes.” 

 

Pam’s insides surged.

She could feel her heartbeat in her throat as she unbuttoned the top few buttons of her shirt quickly, slowing down considerably as she reached the bottom three. Keeping her eyes fixed on Dwight, she peeled the shirt off as smoothly as she could manage. 

She had come prepared, in the flimsiest, laciest, black bra she owned- one she rarely wore, as it didn’t conceal or support much of anything.

Dwight’s mouth hung open slackly. He said nothing. 

She maintained her stare, hitching her breath only slightly, as she felt the cool tingle of air around her breasts.

 

As she watched his pants tent dramatically, Pam felt more powerful than she had in a very long time. 

 

 

 


	7. Release

Dwight was clearly still processing everything that was happening to him. 

 

“Pam,” he said softly, “I don’t-“ 

She was now standing directly in front of him, her supple chest within his reach as she slowly reached behind her back to unhook her bra. 

He put his hands on her arms as she was doing this, and for a second she froze, terrified that he was trying to stop her, then ecstatic when she felt him reach back to undo the clasp himself. 

He unhooked it easily, then slipped his fingers beneath the straps on top of her shoulders, smoothly pulling them down, grazing her soft skin along the way. She nearly shuddered at the touch. Then, watching the bra flutter to the floor, she felt Dwight’s large hands grip either side of her ribs, his thumbs pressing lightly into the skin just below her breasts.

She inhaled sharply as he held her there, turning her face upwards to meet his. His expression was still confused, but she could see hunger in his eyes.

 

“Is this what you want?” He asked, gliding his fingers up and around the sensitive flesh on her sides to cup her breasts possessively. 

Pam was heaving shallowly into his hands, her entire body on fire. All she could do was nod. 

He pulled her down to the sofa and into his lap, and her mouth was on his immediately. She tasted him eagerly, lapping her tongue into his as she pried at the buttons of his shirt. 

The erection she could feel through his jeans felt so sizable beneath her that she moaned into his ear with want. He pressed her farther down onto it, making the want that much worse.

“God, please” she could feel herself start to beg as waves of desire seemed to push her into his body.

Dwight stopped suddenly, pulling away and placing his hands on her shoulders. He asked her what she was doing.

“I just want to fuck you,” she panted, desperate to resume their activities, too distracted to do anything but speak plainly, as she was half-naked in his lap, sinking into the warmth of his grip on her shoulders.

“Just...now?” He asked, blinking. “What is your purpose here?” He stared at her for a minute when she didn’t answer, then let out a brash sneer of a laugh. Pam felt the sting of his contempt immediately.

He dropped his hands from her shoulders, but let her remain perched in his lap, still hard beneath her.

“I thought you were after Jim,” he said smugly.

She cast her eyes downward, “I’m not.”  He locked onto her with a gaze so pointed she was afraid to look back.

“How might Jim feel about me feeling up his property?”

She wanted him to do more than feel her up. She also wasn’t Jim’s property, but that thought had taken a back seat.

“I don’t want Jim right now. I want you. I made up the thing about the painting. There’s no art class.” The words tumbled out of her mouth as the flush of embarrassment bloomed in her chest, and she felt every nerve in her body stand on edge, waiting.

Dwight took a pensive pause, clenching and unclenching the muscles in his jaw as he eyed her curiously, but didn’t touch. She drank in the attention, holding her breath.

“How…badly do you want me?” He demanded.  

“Really bad.” Pam admitted, her ability to speak diminished by the maddening need.

“Really bad,” she repeated, drinking in the shame, knowing at this point she was practically begging for it, and not wanting to stop.

 

“Beg me.” Dwight said finally- forcefully, as if he had read her mind. 

 

Pam felt like jello as she dropped to her knees and told him just how badly she wanted him, how much more attractive she found him than any other man she knew. She dissolved herself into a pathetic mess, groveling at his feet, feeling dirty, indulgent, and aroused in ways she had never thought possible. 

This display flipped the imaginary switch in Dwight she had been looking for, and she watched him begin to tremble with need as he moved to unzip his jeans. She eagerly followed suit.

He eyed her fervently as she leaned back into the opposite end of the sofa, now naked except for a pair of tiny lace panties—vulnerable, exposed, and thrilled. He was was on top of her instantly- ripping her panties off, flipping her over masterfully, and filling her with the biggest cock she’d ever seen.

 

Pam was so immediately overcome with pleasure she could barely hold her herself up- now on all fours, feeling wilder and more rebellious than she had in her life. Dwight gripped her thighs for leverage as he pounded into her relentlessly, giving her exactly what she wanted. She felt herself gasp, astonished at how far he had already surpassed her expectations. 

Gone was her awareness of the passage of time, along her capacity to overthink, to feel self-conscious or to focus on anything but the primal need he was so willingly fulfilling. With each confident thrust he pushed her closer to the edge. She groaned in appreciation at his movements as the pressure built dangerously between her legs. 

“God, Dwight...” she couldn’t finish the sentence; she had climaxed just as she said his name. Electric spasms rippled through her, and she moaned vulgarly as her body pulsed around him. 

She felt him buck suddenly as he approached release, sending her a final aftershock of stimulation that was almost too much to bear. He gripped her hips haughtily, then pulled out at the very last moment to finish on her back. She barely noticed the warmth hit her as she collapsed into the couch, breathless.

 

They spent several seconds panting rhythmically, each waiting for their breathing to slow to a reverent silence.

It was Dwight who spoke first:

”I knew you were lying about the painting.”

"Yeah, right." She said, then rolled over and asked him how soon he would be ready to go for another round.

 

 

 

 

 


	8. Epilogue

Epilogue 

 

Dwight wouldn’t let her leave without taking with her a shiny jar of canned beets, insisting he awarded them to all of his sexual conquests. She stowed the jar in a forgotten cupboard of her apartment, undecided whether she should eat it or keep it as a memento. 

 

 

As she left for work the next day, she impulsively grabbed the beets to take for lunch. 

She strolled into the office that morning feeling uncharacteristically relaxed, as if both a tropical vacation and a hit of valium were pulsing through her veins. She called out good morning to Jim, who swiveled in his chair to greet her. 

He clutched a fork in his hand and was eating his breakfast straight from a jar. _Beets._

Jim locked eyes with her, and immediately she knew how he’d earned it. He smiled knowingly.

Pam’s eyes flashed at the identical jar of beets in her own hand, which she quickly shifted to try to hide. It was clear Jim had already spotted it. Her stomach dropped and her eyes widened. 

“How was your evening?” He asked smugly. 

She wanted to mumble that her evening had been fine, then quickly turn away in embarrassment, never to speak of it again...but something had changed in her that night with Dwight.

 

Instead, she simply asked him if he’d like to visit Schrute Farms together that weekend. 

 

 

 

THE END 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
